Masks and Men
by A Raven's Call
Summary: Deathstroke was the mask, Slade Wilson, the man. Deathstroke had only been a guise until it wasn't. When had the mask become the man? Slade doesn't know. All he knows is that he is a shadow that wants to reach for the light. Raven&Slade. Season 4.
1. Question

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Question**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Hi ya'll. I'm finally free from high school! YAAAAY! …now onto college. Going into high school, I was, you know, a little scared; going into college…I'm terrified. Anyway, expect more stories because I need to finish these fics while I still have time, so you can expect a Pacific Rim AU for Teen Titans in the future.

Anyway, this story is set during Season 4 with some minor alterations. I always thought it would be interesting to explore Slade's character a bit more and play around with the theme of darkness vs. light. This is partially inspired by vampirecheetah's Radiance and my friend's prompt: What if Slade and Raven had their minds melded together? Add a Slade and Raven friendship and this thing was born.

Expect updates every other day. Ah... The joys of having no homework.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"No amount of darkness can hide a spark of light."

Proverb

* * *

Like love and hate, light and shadow were inherently inseparable. One could never exist without the other. And yet, light cannot exist without a shadow, but the darkness lingers even without the light. It doesn't need shadows or the light to consume everything in its path.

The darkness always wins. Or at least that's what should happen.

(But sometimes, the light is so bright that the darkness can be driven away.)

Slade never had that light. He has been corrupted beyond saving, and he knows it. Whatever spark of light he ever had was gone by the time he stepped foot into Jump City. He has embraced the darkness with open arms. In the shadows, he has found his home.

Contrary to popular belief, Slade wasn't colored in the lines of black and white. He was the kind of man who wouldn't color in between the lines of a coloring book, the kind of man that kept his cards close and his enemies closer, the kind of man that would tell lie after lie until he didn't know the truth.

 _When did the guise end and the man begin?_

Deathstroke was the mask, Slade Wilson, the man. Deathstroke had only been a guise until it wasn't.

 _When had the mask become the man?_

Now, even Slade doesn't know where the real him begins. He is too soft, too weak to be Deathstroke, too brutal, too cold to be Slade Wilson.

Slade is a…compromise… If anything, the shred of Slade Wilson still inside of him prevents him from careering over the edge and crossing the point of no return. If anything, he is Deathstroke in all but name and occupation.

Slade Wilson had always been the master of his Fate, and Slade has every intention of doing the same. Criminal masterminds are beholden to no one, not even themselves.

And yet, he still can't forget. He came to Jump City to do so, but even now, it still hurts. The memories are still fresh and raw, festering wounds that only make him remember of what he had to leave behind.

He is free for the first time in years. (But why is he bound in so many chains?) Slade Wilson remains, thankfully, silent, and Deathstroke isn't about to get cold feet.

He pretends that the man he once was never existed.

But he doesn't change his name.

(In spite of everything, Slade could never let go of the past.)

And when he dies, he dies in burning lava, hoist by his own petard and his own foolishness and pride. When he dies, he thinks that maybe Slade Wilson, all those years ago, had been right, but then he thinks better of it.

(It's much easier to be consumed by the darkness.)

Slade finds himself being dragged from the pits of hell, away from blazing hellfire, and back to the world of the living. Trigon returns him to his tired old bones, but holds off on the flesh. "Make a deal with the Devil, Slade," Trigon croons. "Serve me and I shall grant you your flesh and blood."

Trigon offers a hand and Slade takes it without a second thought. He might be a pawn, but even pawns can become the most powerful playing pieces—if they last long enough.

He becomes nothing more than a re-animated skeleton being dangled from invisible strings to the command of the puppeteer. (It still beats being dead.)

In exchange for life (and his flesh and blood), Slade would be Trigon's messenger boy. If that means terrifying his daughter, his plain Jane daughter into obedience, so be it.

He hunts her down like the good old days. Slade relishes the look of fear, the look of abject horror crossing her face the moment she sees him lunge for her.

 _Drink it in, Raven. Behold to world you are destined to create._

She squirms underneath his fiery touch. Her cries of pain are music to his ears, her sorrow, his joy, her suffering, his ecstasy. His very touch begins to burn her father's marks into her skin, and she seems so very small, so very fragile, in his careful hands.

"You can't fight Destiny, Raven," he coos in her ear. He can feel everything. Her hammering heart. The sobs heaving from her chest.

And the way he can make her burn, burn, burn.

Slade watches her resistance crumble with a sick sort of glee.

Or part of him does.

Deathstroke was all too gleeful breaking her.

Slade Wilson wasn't.

 _(What kind of a man is he to do this to a poor, unsuspecting girl?)_

Slade Wilson stirs for the first time in years. That question, that infernal question, keeps burning in the back of his mind. Terra had come to him willingly, but Raven… He had done that for the fun of it. All of it.

 _(What kind of a man is he to do this to a poor, unsuspecting girl?)_

He doesn't want to answer that question.

The entire affair leaves an acrid taste in his mouth.

—

The darkness begins to drown him.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	2. Answer

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Answer**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:**

Just a heads up: I know that we've seen Raven's mind in the TV series, but I feel like it's the kiddified version. Yes, there are different aspects of her personality, but the part that makes Raven _Raven_ should have its own space i.e. her memories, etc... You wouldn't go to Nevermore to destroy her—you'd go there. I tried exploring that in this chapter. Also, Slade's past is explored a little more. I tried to keep it faithful to his originalish origin story.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"The light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it."

—John 1:5

* * *

He had never thought much of Raven—at first. She was superfluous. She wasn't as strong as Starfire, wasn't as intelligent as Cyborg, wasn't as welcoming as Beast Boy, and could never, ever hold a candle to Robin.

She was _weak._ (And Slade had no use for weaklings.) She was uncontrolled. Mistrustful. Sarcastic. Moody. Prone to sub-psychotic outbursts of rage.

She was boring, really. Slade had her figured out on day one—or at least, that's what he thought.

He was wrong.

Slade could have never envisioned that she would have been like this. As he journeys into her mind, he can't help but feel a little afraid.

She is dark, too dark. Even for a creature that enjoys darkness, Raven's is too much.

Raven's mind is nothing like the stoic façade she wears on the surface. She is like an iceberg, cold at the very tip, but underneath, she is much, much colder. Small on the surface, deep down below.

The entire place is organized chaos, scattered pictures and relics thrown every which way with some semblance of order that's kept together with a tenuous thread. There are shattered frames with photographs that are torn apart, faces furiously crossed out in permanent marker. Some portraits are set apart and used as dartboards. He notices that Terra is one of them.

There are none of herself in any of them.

Broken mirrors with shattered glass are sprinkled throughout and topped with extra helpings of self-loathing, broken dreams, and discarded hope.

He finds nothing but despair.

He wanders further until he comes to a hall of portraits that line the walls. Her friends are here, looking happier than ever, but then he takes a step into the room, and suddenly their eyes are all trained on him. Their eyes stare accusingly down at him.

He ignores them and continues on. At the end of the hall is a picture of a woman all in white. She has flowing purple hair and Raven's face but none of her burning fire in her eyes. From the looks of it, this is her mother? He touches the portrait, but it dissolves into ash at his very ash. Another picture is next to where her mother's once stood, a city overflowing with light and a spiraling temple in the distance. Azarath, most likely. He touches that picture, and inside the painting, the city erupts into flames.

He watches it burn.

He continues to walk through the shifting hallways until he finds an imposing wrought iron door. It is rusted from disuse, bound by thick steel chains and locks, runes and everything in between. It is sealed away from the rest of the mind, a doorway that is superfluous, unwanted, alone. It towers over everything else in her mind, a door of gray against the backdrop of black. Banging can be heard from behind the gate with cries of Rage, of Pain, of Sorrow, of Fury.

Grunting with effort, Slade tries to force his way through the door. Even with Trigon's powers and blessings, the door refuses to budge even an inch.

No point in staying here any longer. Slade continues on.

Finally, Slade opens a door and all of a sudden, there is light. A flash of blinding light spills into the corridor outside. Raven's darkness seems to ebb away with every step he takes toward the door.

The room itself is unimpressive. It's empty, save for the lonely crystal raven in the center. There are no shadows here, the darkness from outside is drowned out by the raven's very radiance. Delicately sculpted, the crystal raven takes flight toward the sky with a goal to fly higher than anyone else could have imagined.

So that's what her soul looked like. Light caged in by the shadows.

If he cared at all, he might have thought it beautiful.

But he doesn't. Deathstroke doesn't care. (But Slade Wilson does.)

Reaching out, he grasps the raven in his hands. Deathstroke's fingers wrap around the raven's neck, grips it hard enough to make the crystal begin to crack.

He has orders to break her—completely. Leave her an empty shell, an empty vessel made for Trigon's ascent. This would do the trick.

But Slade Wilson makes him hesitate. His fingers loosen just slightly.

It's enough. That moment of weakness is enough.

All of a sudden, the crystal blasts him with this brilliance. It nails him in the chest. Slade feels himself being thrown back into the wall with a nasty crack. Snapping his bones back into place, Slade watches Raven emerge from the crystal raven's depths.

"What are you doing here?" she demands. Her eyes begin to be filled with crimson red. The room begins to darken as red runes begin creeping up the walls. "Get out!"

"Sorry, birthday girl, but I have a message from dear old dad." He lunges for her again. Slade presses up to her, leans down to whisper throatily in her ear, "You don't need your soul anymore."

Her eyes snap back to meet his cold blue one. He can see the horror, the fear written on her face, but unlike on the tower, unlike the rest of her mind, her face doesn't give into despair.

" **GET OUT!** " she roars.

A pulsing pain in his temples is trying to tear his mind apart. Screaming, Slade falls to his knees as he sees everything he doesn't want to.

He hears Raven's taunting, demonic laugh echo in his head. _Why did you ever think you could forget about the past, Slade?_

"Shu—" Slade feels a tugging on his navel, and suddenly, he's falling down… down… down… deeper and deeper into the darkness.

 _He lies about his age when he joins the army. He's young and hopeful and still looking to make a difference. He's sixteen. He's sixteen when he kills a man for the first time. The blood stains his hands and it takes him hours to until his hands are clean-_

 _Captain Adeline Kane floors him the first time she fights him. Rubbing his jaw gingerly, he can't help but grin at the brunette that just kicked his ass. "Can we go again?" -_

 _He gets down on one knee. For a man that has gone into battle, knows countless fighting forms and strategies, he is unprepared for this one. Opening the box, he looks up at Addie with clear blue eyes and prays to God that she says yes-_

 _He kisses her. She is his now, as much as he is hers. And he promises to love her until his dying day-_

 _The army calls. He goes. He doesn't have a choice. She keeps his photograph in her ripped jeans. He keeps a photograph of their wedding day in his breast pocket, right over his heart-_

 _Is he going to die? Here? It's too soon… Too soon… Out of ammo, out of luck, the last thought he thinks he will ever have is of her-_

 _His savior is standing over him. "Hey, kid. Let's go. We've got a war to win." That's how he meets William Wintergreen, on the battlefield, and he says to the God of Death 'Not today.'-_

 _He comes home to_ _Addie, all smiles and joy. He rubs her belly gently, feels the kick from their unborn son. She's next to him, her fingers interlacing with his, and he's the happiest man in the world_ _-_

 _They're asking for a man brave enough to become America's next supersoldier. He thinks of the boy that volunteered for the army. He raises his hand-_

 _Whoever said "With great power comes great responsibility" is wrong. With great power comes great pain. The experiments make him feel like his entire body is on fire, every cell is radiating with agony. But it stops, it is like he has been reborn anew—better, faster, stronger-_

 _He's there when Grant is born, and he thinks his heart will burst out of his chest. Holding the wiggling baby in his hands, he promises to himself that he will always protect him, always love him-_

 _What good is power if you can't use it to protect the ones you love? Orders be damned. Slade goes after Wintergreen without a second thought. Puts on a mask and just runs-_

 _Relief. Will. His best friend. His partner. Safe and sound. They're both okay. Thank God. Thank God-_

 _The dishonorable discharge is no badge of shame, more like a badge of honor, but it does make it difficult to get a job and live legitimately. Addie is expecting. Another boy, he notes with a smile. Grant is ecstatic at having a little brother. No matter. He'll just make do-_

 _The orange mask stares back at him. It's nicer than the one he used to save Wintergreen. Putting it over his face, for the first time since leaving the army, Slade feels complete-_

 _Grant vaults onto his shoulders. "Daddy! Piggy back ride!" Slade laughs and complies. All thoughts of business are gone as he and his son careen around the house, Addie looking on with amusement with Joey in her arms-_

 _Unlike Grant, who tries so hard to be like him, Joey goes his own way. He has a beautiful voice. As he learns music, Slade always takes the time to listen to his son as he sings. Joey's voice is the thing that drives the demons away-_

 _It's getting harder and harder to discard the mask. He's starting to revel in the violence, and it frightens him that he has an unsuspecting family back at home. He wants to quit but he can't. He has been Deathstroke for too long and he's addicted-_

 _A knife is pressed up against Joey's throat. There are shouts, a threat to kill his son if he doesn't give up the name of his employer._ _Like hell he'd let that happen. No one would ever touch his child._ _ **Ever.**_ _Slade fires. The man drops dead, but Joey drops with him, blood spurting from his throat. No… No!-_

 _He spends sleepless nights at the hospital until he hears Joey will be okay. His son will never speak again, but at least he's alive. He wants to cry out in relief, but Deathstroke doesn't cry-_

" _We'll talk about this later when I get back." Heading for the door, he trusts Addie with his back. She thanks him by shooting his eye out. She also shoots his heart out in the process-_

 _He loses himself in the killing, in the contracts. It's all a blur. Wintergreen stays with him, and he says he's fine, but his remaining eye can't help but linger on happy families in the street-_

 _He would be Slade. For the first time in years he'd be Slade. The new two-toned mask is ready, and Jump City is ripe for the taking. He drops a lit match to the ground and watches his past burn away, the smiling faces of his family going up in smoke-_

 _He wants what he can't have. He is a selfish, petty creature. In Robin, he sees what he could have had in Grant. In Terra, he not only sees a tool but also a daughter-_

" _You're being foolish," Wintergreen says with a disapproving stare. "They won't ever be yours."-_

 _He should have listened. He's falling into the darkness, into the burning flames of hell. So this is what death looks like. But he wants to live. How ironic that his last thoughts are of Addie, Joey, and Grant…-_

He is broken. His mind is a mess. Everything is wrong.

In the center of the swirling chaos, he can see his soul. It's a blur. It shifts from a familiar two-toned mask to something else he can't make out. He seems to be at war with himself, and the darkness is winning.

The light in him is fading until he's left with nothing but himself. He's drowning in memories, in regrets, and in forgotten dreams. Deathstroke's mask keeps staring at him, laughing. He is being consumed by orange and black, strangled from within.

It's dark… so dark…

A gentle hand grabs his and begins tugging him out of the depths of this black hell. He hangs on for dear life. He feels someone's touch fixing him, reorganizing his mind as returning everything back into place.

For the first time, he looks at his savior.

In the darkness, Slade Wilson stares at her; Raven stares back.

—

He recognizes that look in those amethyst eyes of hers.

It's a look of pity.

—

He forgot that the creatures that cast the darkest shadows also have the brightest light.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	3. Awakening

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Awakening**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Ya'll are really sweet. It's always nice to see what people think! :D

Anyway, sorry that this is a slower chapter. I think the characters need to understand each other more before anything _major_ happens, and Raven just got a cheat code by breaking into Slade's mind. Yay. Life hack. Much cool.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"A little light dispels a lot of darkness"

—Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi

* * *

He wakes up and she's beside him. The darkness is being kept at bay by the small flashlight in her hands. That look is still there, written on her face as clear as day.

He hates her for her pity, almost as much as Slade Wilson hates himself.

"Where are we?"

"Your head," she answers simply. "I was uncomfortable with what you did in mine."

He looks down. Slade Wilson wants to apologize, but Deathstroke stops him.

"Don't do that again. Torment me during my meditation… Torment me in reality… I don't care what you do, but stay out of my head." She points the flashlight so it illuminates his face. "My mind is my own."

"Why not?"

"What you almost did last night… It's violation… It's _rape_ …" Her voice catches in her throat. As if she's trying to choke back memories. "Don't do it."

"Then why did you do it to me?" He tilts his head. Slade wants her to respond, wants her to become consumed with rage. Always an easier target for manipulation. Always much, much more fun.

"You attacked me first. I lashed out—I was _defending_ myself," she shoots back coolly.

"By raping me." Underneath his mask, he smirks. "How very Trigon of you."

There's the ticket. Raven's eyes flash dangerously. She closes the distance between then to jab a finger into his chest. In an inexplicable twist of events, she is the one in power, she is the one dangling _him_ off a building. Why, it isn't even his birthday. "I did something my father would never do. I fixed you. I _saved_ you, Slade."

"Why? To free yourself from guilt? Trying so hard not to be Daddy's little girl?" he laughs.

"No." Her eyes never waver from his. "Because I learned everything about you, _Deathstroke_."

Slade freezes. His eye narrows into a thin slit. "You know nothing," he hisses.

"I know everything," she says just as quietly, just as resolutely. "Addie. Joey. Grant. Wintergreen. I know it all."

He lunges for her, but she snaps her fingers and he finds himself dangling in the air. In spite of his struggles, Raven's magic wraps around him and forces him to look her in the eye.

"I know you, Slade Wilson." And her eyes tell him that this is no lie. She's telling the complete, wholesome truth. The thought of that terrifies him. She _knows_ , every part of him—the good, the bad, the evil. (And part of him feels so relieved that someone finally understands.)

And yet… Her expressive eyes look so sad.

Another snap of her fingers and he falls to the floor, just a pile of bones in human armor. Raven holds out a hand, but both of them know that he won't take it.

Stooping, she clicks the flashlight to a higher setting. Light floods the area around them, and he sees his own mind clearly for the first time. It looks so much likes hers, only darker, harder, sadder. While her soul is bathed in light, his belongs only to the darkness.

Raven sets the flashlight next to him. Bending down, she touches his shoulder. Raven suddenly looks less like a girl and more like a woman. "You're not as evil as you say you are," she whispers in his ear. Purple eyes meet blue for the briefest of moments.

And then she returns to the darkness.

—

He doesn't turn the flashlight off.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	4. Step

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Step**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys are _FABULOUS_!:D Seriously. I wish I could personally give cookies—the edible kind—to every single one of you!

The chapters will get longer...eventually. I'm posting twice today because Chapter 5's also really short and completed and I'm writing ahead of schedule. Yay. Thank goodness for the weekend.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"Before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness."

—Dan Millman

* * *

He takes up her offer to "torment" her during her meditation time. With Trigon's powers, Slade gets the added bonus of sneaking in during her meditation sessions, but he respects her request and never invades her mind to that extent again.

He should be taunting her, reminding her of the destruction she will cause, and repeating the Prophecy to her over and over like a well-trained skeletal parrot…or a good demonic overlord's minion.

(He should be, but he never does.)

Their conversations are almost civil. They talk about unimportant things first. The weather. The news. Novels. Movies. Sometimes, they'll delve into matters of more emotional importance. They'll talk about family and how they miss them. She'll talk about Azarath; he'll talk about his childhood home.

Sometimes, they talk about his family. About Joey. About Grant.

"You should talk to them," she suggests. They are side by side, and he almost finds himself enjoying her companionship. Almost. This is just a fleeting understanding between pawns, nothing more.

"Maybe." Deathstroke's mask looms in the back of his mind. "Maybe not."

With her, it's easy to forget that darkness can consume them both.

Tick tock goes the clock. The End is approaching, and she still believes she can stop it. He doesn't try to convince her otherwise, and she never discusses any of her doubts with him.

She has them, he knows. Even hope cannot exist without a bit of despair.

Trigon provides plenty of that.

He never actually sees Trigon attacking her. Slade only sees the aftermath.

It's bad enough.

(It's enough to sicken him.)

He has a better understanding of what is behind that locked door.

* * *

It starts out normally. Just another meeting. Another late night chat.

He expects the usual darkness of her mind but instead he finds her mind set ablaze. Everything is burning, and he doesn't know if there's anything that isn't a glowing red. Everything is gone. The echoes of once was said are the only things that linger in the darkness. The doubt… the uncertainty… The emotions are overwhelming, devouring what is left whole.

 _How pathetic, daughter. To think that you can defeat me!_

The shadows have grown crimson eyes and matching teeth. They laugh like her father. Upon seeing Slade, they immediately leap towards him with snapping jaws, all too eager to sink their teeth into him.

A few well-aimed blasts of fire and the demons inside of her head are gone.

 _I created you! You only exist to serve me!_

He finds her in that once brilliant room. She is being consumed by the shadows. The entire place is up in flames, smoke is everywhere, making it hard to breathe, and all she is worried about is trying to carefully put the pieces of the shattered crystal raven back together.

The light, that once brilliant light, is gone. All that remains is all of hell.

As Trigon's messenger, Slade should have been trying to make her obey his master's wishes. After all, it was part of his job description… But even Deathstroke doesn't want to.

 _(Hasn't the girl suffered enough?)_

This is what he could have done to her. But what he was prepared to do could have been even worse.

 _(Is this what you want?_ _ **This?**_ _)_

And suddenly, the self-loathing is gone and replaced by a resolution to fix it.

He leaves her to her task at hand and starts putting out the hellfire. He straightens the portraits and replaces the items, tries to return everything to how it used to be before Trigon attacked. Deathstroke doesn't want to bother, but Slade Wilson had always striven to be the best at everything he did—even cleaning.

He was always good at taking out the trash.

Slade almost feels like himself again as he looks up at the portrait of Raven's mother. She gives him a small, mysterious smile, almost as if she's thanking him for taking care of her daughter. He looks back and she's stoically staring forward once more.

When he returns to Raven's side, the room is once again illuminated by light. Approaching her, Slade notices the chips in the crystal raven was once so pristine, so silver, so shiny, so new.

Now, it's almost as good as new. Almost. Not quite. The light is dimmer, somehow. It has lost some of its brilliance but none of its fire.

It's still beautiful, in an awful sort of way. Privately, he thinks that it's more beautiful with its imperfections. (Her light is more attainable now, and he is disgusted with himself for thinking that.)

Turning to face him, Raven asks tiredly, "Are you here to torment me more?"

He shakes his head. "No."

Her lower lip trembles dangerously. Raven looks so exhausted, like she will collapse at any moment. She looks like she's just going through the motions, just checking things off her things to do when your father mindrapes you. His eye widens. Had Trigon done this to her before? "Then why are—"

He gently wraps his arms around her and presses her close to his chest. He can feel the frantic beat of her heart, the way her body trembles under his touch.

This time, his touch doesn't burn.

She blinks in surprise. Once. Twice. And then, much to his surprise, she buries her face in his chest and cries.

He just holds her.

When the tears finally subside, Raven removes herself from him without another word. He wants to an explanation… something—anything, but all she gives him is her back.

"Leave," she murmurs. She won't look at him. "Please."

Slade Wilson wants to stay, and he has half a mind to listen to him. But the way she says please makes him pause. He knows that tone. It's the tone of someone that just needs to be alone. For a while.

(They'll come to you when they're ready.)

This time he listens to her and not his heart. Slade disappears without a trace and leaves her to clean up her own darkness.

* * *

Slade returns to his main base and digs up his old Deathstroke mask. The one he used while saving Joey. The one he had worn when Addie shot his eye out. The one that he had worn when he instilled fear into the hearts of anyone who saw it.

Deathstroke. The Terminator. Responsible for over a thousand deaths. The world's greatest assassin. Cold. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty.

Deathstroke.

He takes that mask and pounds it to bits.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	5. Threat

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Threat**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys ROCK!

This chapter's the shortest of all of them. I thought it would be interesting to introduce Brother Blood because in an interview, the animators for Teen Titans said that Brother Blood was created as a sort of foil for Slade. I thought it would be fun to see how they would play off each other in this situation…or it could have been an excuse to have a protective, sassy Slade.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light."

-Madeline L'Engel

* * *

During his meetings with Trigon, Slade descends into Hell. Literally. Trigon had thought it amusing to decorate the stone cavern in the same manner he would the rest of the universe—lava, flame, destruction, despair…lack of style…

Trigon never did have good taste.

And today, a new face has appeared in the cavern. A golden stone engraved with the Mark of Skaath ensnares his neck and marks him as the leader of the religion that worships Trigon.

When he finally sees the newcomer, Slade suppresses a groan. Why did _he_ of all people have to be the head of the Church of Blood? Having a Satanic cult was bad enough, but to have that idiot as its head? Torture.

"You are a believer as well?" Brother Blood asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "I'm shocked. I never realized you would believe in the one true God."

Slade shrugs noncommittally.

He had never liked Brother Blood to begin with. H.I.V.E. Academy's headmaster had always been lacking when it came to being competent. The man never did have finesse when it came to, well, anything. If there was one thing that could be counted on, it would be Brother Blood's love for the spotlight.

Trigon's four eyes narrow. "Report, Slade. How is my daughter?"

Raven's image appears on the stone face. She's smiling with her friends. On the surface, she looks fine, but Slade notices the amethyst of her eyes didn't sport that brilliance they should have, but instead held dark rings just above her cheeks. She looks like the waking dead, exhausted beyond comprehension but unable to rest.

He notices how Brother Blood's eyes linger on Raven, too long for Slade's liking.

Slade currently likes him hell of a lot less.

"She doesn't wish to become the portal," Slade replies smoothly. "Still."

"I thought that last attack would have made her bend the knee," Trigon muses aloud. There is a hint of annoyance and pride in his voice. Raven truly is his daughter, even if she doesn't want to be, and Trigon's child would never bend so easily.

"You could always threaten her friends," Brother Blood comments. "I know Slade has mastered that."

"Or that could cause her to turn against you," Slade counters quickly. "She won't be broken without a fight."

"Then what do you suggest, Slade?" Trigon looks down on Slade, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "Talk to her?" he croons. "Try to convince her to open the portal of her own volition?"

Brother Blood laughs, and Slade would love to break his neck. "You could always just have your way with her, Slade. Force yourself onto her," he suggests, his smile a little too gleeful at that thought. "If you want her to break completely, of course."

Slade thinks of how small she looked when Trigon attacked her, how broken she looked in the aftermath. She is the light and he is the darkness, and he'll be damned if he allows anything else to corrupt that radiant soul of hers.

Both Slade Wilson and Deathstroke want to murder Brother Blood in as many creative ways as possible. Again and again and again.

The death glare that he sends Brother Blood is enough to make the man take a step back.

"You will do no such thing!" Slade snaps. Fire burns in his eye.

"Or what?" Brother Blood finds his confidence again and lets out a snort of laughter. "I am Trigon's greatest apostle!"

"I am His messenger." Slade swings his arm forward. Hellfire wraps around Brother Blood's neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. Looking down at the man gasping for breath, Slade leans over him and mutters darkly, "And I will ensure this message is heard."

He waves his arm, and Brother Blood slams into the wall, unconscious.

Trigon watches the scene with amusement. "Don't tell me you care for the girl."

"Hardly," Slade scoffs. "I just prefer playing with my food before I eat it."

* * *

They both know he's lying through his teeth.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	6. Whole

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Whole**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:**

Thank you so much for the reviews, the constructive criticism, the favorites, and the follows! Let's be real here. You guys are the _best_. Thank you so much. :DAlso, thank you anon who suggested I add more dialogue. You inspired the rewrite of this and it made the flow, I think, so much better.

Sorry about the late update. Life got in the way, and plot bunnies for another fic I started drafting, Fifty Shades of Slade, kept popping up whenever I tried to write...but before we get into that, I had to make myself remember to finish this thing first. Yep.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole."

-Carl Jung

* * *

He's worried about the girl—if he's being honest. But since Slade is a selfish man, he pretends that he doesn't.

But he notices. Both Deathstroke and Slade Wilson are observant men. They can't help it.

She's been quiet, too quiet. During their meetings, their usual bickering is replaced by long, drawn-out silences. She is so close to him, but her eyes are so far away.

They are very good at playing pretend. It's easier to think that the end of the world isn't going to come. It's easier to believe that she's okay.

But it doesn't change the fact that she's slipping. Her control is weakening, her resolve, fading. Even she knows that her father is winning, and she doesn't know how to stop it.

"You look like you haven't slept in ages," he comments lightly during one of their daily meetings. Still, it doesn't undercut the slight lilt of concern. He had heard from Brother Blood's nattering that Trigon had been on the warpath this past week, all too eager to rake his mental talons to try to tear his daughter apart.

It shows.

"Weren't you the one who said sleep was for the weak?" Raven laughs, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, the same eyes that get redder and redder with each passing day, and he knows for a fact that it isn't from tears.

He ruffles her hair. She swats his hand away; he just dances out of her reach. "You need all the rest you can get."

She rolls her eyes and gives him an affectionate punch to the arm. Settling herself on the floor, Raven pats the space beside her invitingly. He takes his usual spot by her side.

There are no shadows here. (And maybe, that's the problem.)

"How's Joey?" she asks in a half-hearted attempt to redirect the conversation, in a half-hearted attempt to be "okay."

"Surprisingly receptive." He's almost glad that his face his hidden behind his mask; she doesn't need to see his silly grin. Not right now. But he can't help because his children are still his world after all this time. "He's returned a few of my letters."

"And Grant?"

"The same."

"That's good to hear." She smiles, a genuine one. Her expression is warm, and he almost forgets about the impending apocalypse. Almost.

Slade watches her for a decent pause, traces her figure like it is a strategy, but her eyes betray nothing. "How about you?" he finally inquires.

She presses her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "I'm fine."

"Did…stuff happen?" He winces, Slade Wilson facepalms, and Deathstroke just shakes his head—even he knows how awkward sounding that probe was.

But how else was he supposed to phrase the question? Stuff is a good word. Noncommittal. All encompassing. A silly word that betrays nothing, means nothing.

Stuff is… Stuff is safe. Things add danger, and specifics… Well specifics, just add more fuel to the fire, more things to burn. She is hellfire and if he's not careful, she will burn him too.

"Not really." She hesitates before looking back to the darkness, and she's suddenly so far out of reach. "The stuff that did happen wasn't important."

"Right." And he leaves it at that. No need to talk about what happened to Dr. Light. No need to talk about the nightmares or the worries. No need to talk about the darkness when there's so much light.

In her mind, alone and isolated and safe from the rest of the world, they will sit here and play pretend.

She isn't drowning in half of her nature, her human half isn't being devoured whole. He isn't walking across a shaky tightrope between his deal with Trigon and what he actually wants to do, and no, he most certainly isn't about to fall into the abyss.

She isn't terrified or alone. He isn't worried or afraid.

She isn't anything but the hero that she has been for these past few years. He isn't anything but her father's messenger boy.

He doesn't say much when she loses herself to the shadows. Instead, he reaches out to give her hand a squeeze. Their eyes meet for a moment. _I'm there for you_ , his eyes try to say.

She rewards him with a small smile, in spite of the weight on her chest. Her fingers intertwine with his, tracing meaningless patterns on his skin. _I know._

The raven in her hands begins to shine brighter. The cracks in its feathers knit together to become whole once again.

It's an illusion. (He knows that those are lasting scars.)

Then, one day, he can't get through to her at all. It's like there's an impenetrable wall between the two of them. He slams into it again and again, trying desperately to just reach her, but the wall won't budge. She's gone. Whatever they had before has vanished. Just like that.

(Slade Wilson is terrified that she's broken beyond repair. Deathstroke is doing his best to pretend that he doesn't care.)

That doesn't stop the flood of relief coursing through his system when he finds her in his base. She's shivering and soaked to the skin from the pouring rain outside. She looks like she hasn't slept for days, and she's swaying on the spot.

But she's there. She's alive. She's suddenly within his reach.

"Raven." His voice keeps getting caught in his throat. He knows what he wants to say, but he can't bring himself to say it aloud. He is afraid that if he touches her, she will shatter under his fingers.

"Slade." Her voice is soft, vulnerable, not at all like the confident woman she had once been. She looks so small, so broken, like she did on that tower so many nights ago.

They stare at each other for the longest time. They say things with their eyes that they can't bring themselves to say. Speaking things aloud makes things to far too real. It would bring reality far too close to home for either's liking.

And so, they speak with their eyes until she finds courage to close the distance between them.

"You're okay," she whispers. Raven breathes a sigh of relief, pressing her forehead to his metal mask. "Thank Azar."

"I could say the same thing to you."

"I…" Now that the moment of fear has passed, all of a sudden, she doesn't know what to say. "I should...um...I should…go."

His arms wrap around her. "Stay."

The tendrils of her emotions instinctively reach for his. He can feel her mind mingling with his own, her feelings entwining with his. They hit him in flashes, sparks of color in a field of black and white.

 _She flies all the way to him in the storm. Raindrops be damned, she has to see that he's okay. She can't lose him. She can't. Not him too. Please be all right. Please... Please... Please… He is the only one who could ever understand…_

 _He's relentlessly pacing. Could Trigon have hurt her? Broken her beyond repair? The thought hits him like a train wreck and he can't quell the fear that has settled itself into the pit of his stomach. He has half of a mind to go to Titan's Tower just to make sure she's all right-_

Muttering apologies, she immediately tries to extricate herself from the tangle of feelings, tries to backpedal as quickly as she can, but he just pulls her closer.

"Let me in. Trust me." His fingers run through her hair. "Let me help."

"Don't. I'm not… You don't know—"

"I know." Because he does. He knows. All her deep-seated fears. All her hopes and her dreams and bits and pieces of her past. How much it takes out of her to maintain the light that can drive away the darkness. "It's okay to have a dark side, Raven. I have one, you have one… It doesn't make either of us worse."

Everyone always talks about how you should always keep hope alive. They don't talk about what happens when you've gone too far to keep that little spark burning. No one talks about the aftermath.

The expectations. The burdens you carry on your back.

The pain. The loneliness. The longing.

The brokenness.

He knows.

He gently lifts up her chin, so violets eyes meet blue. "Show me, Raven," he whispers. "Show me. Everything. _Please_."

"Slade." She bites her lip, her voice less than a whisper. "You don't have to."

"I want to." His forehead presses against hers, metal meeting flesh. His fingers float up to cup her cheek. "You carried my burden before; let me carry some of yours."

And suddenly, the floodgates open and he is falling once again.

* * *

 _They're standing in front of that door. That towering, sealed up door that is rusted from disuse, chained up and deliberately forgotten. Her door. Her mind. She looks down, suddenly shy, nervousness and fear and worry radiating from her in waves, and asks him if he wants to know everything. He smiles. "Of course."-_

 _The chains on the door rattle and fall away. The door swings open with a tired groan. Behind it, there is nothing but darkness. She holds out a hand; he takes it. They descend into the darkness together and suddenly neither is afraid-_

 _She's a child again. She's gaunt, half-starved, and dressed in rags. Her fingers weakly curl around the bars of the cage. Accusing, hateful eyes look down on her, and she doesn't understand why they hate her so much-_

 _They talk about torturing her for her sins, but she can't remember any. They laugh when she protests. "Your sin is for existing, child."-_

 _She can only watch when they sacrifice other children to seal away the demon. Finally, they get to her. They drag her, kicking and screaming to the center of a room where runes and symbols are written in the blood of the sacrificed innocents before her. They stab her in the heart, and she thinks for a moment that she's about to die-_

 _"_ Do you want to die? _" the voice asks. It's a deep baritone that makes her recall a small memory, just a brief one. She knows that voice deep down._

 _"_ _NO!" she screams. Power floods her fingertips. Eyes glowing red, she turns to face her once-captors with four crimson eyes unclouded by uncertainty. The voice chuckles. She truly is His daughter-_

 _When she comes to, every cultist is dead and her hands are stained with red. The memories swirl in her mind. The pleasure from tearing them apart, limb from limb. The joy at seeing their faces twist into looks of utter agony. And she hates herself for feeling this way. The four eyed demon, the owner of that voice, just looks on and laughs-_

 _She finds herself back in the temple of Azarath with Azar above her. The goddess gives her a soothing smile. "It's all right, child. Everything will be all right. You're safe now."-_

 _Safe. She fights back the urge to laugh. She's never safe. Not from herself-_

 _On Azarath, she pretends to forget all emotions. She pretends that she isn't anything but a loyal devotee, but she knows better. Her father, the four eyed demon haunts every corner of her mind. She can't make him stop laughing and laughing and laughing-_

 _She struggles to be normal, to stay in control (Or at least have some semblance of it). But she's teetering on the edge, terrified of falling into the abyss, but on Azarath, she has no one to ever talk to-_

 _The nightmares aren't enough. He goes further. He tears apart her mind into bits. There's this searing pain as he digs his mental talons into every part of her. He examines her mind roughly until he is done with it and leaves her in shambles. She's left to try to hastily assemble the pieces, but it's hard because everything is on fire-_

 _She seals everything away. Everything negative. Everything that makes her tick. It's placed behind the door and forgotten about. It doesn't change the fact that her father still lingers…-_

 _When she meets the Teen Titans, she sees hope. Here are people don't care about the past, don't care about the gigantic four-eyed demon whispering on her shoulder. In them, she sees a chance to forget the nightmares and walk in the light-_

 _She has to hold back more. She nearly loses control when she fights Terra. She has to hold back or else she'll become just like her father…just like that time so long ago…-_

 _She looks at herself in the mirror. Trigon stares back-_

 _She pounds the mirror to bits, uncaring of the shards of glass protruding from her fist. She destroys everything in her past, but it doesn't stop His laughter from echoing through her head-_

 _Slade reminds her of who she is. Innocence is over. Her attempt at play pretend is over, and she can no longer run and hide… It doesn't mean she won't try-_

 _He tries to hurt her like Trigon. She instinctively lashes out, watches how he's twitching, screaming as her demonic half does the same to him. She hates the part of her that is enjoying watching him squirm. Immediately, she tries to repair his mind-_

 _She knows that he isn't all black and white. She sees the way his emotions coil up into a ball of self-hatred whenever he thinks of his children. He loves them, cares for them, in a way Trigon never had for her-_

 _She hates how he makes her so vulnerable, stronger and weaker at the same time, but she can't hate_ _ **him**_ _. He isn't an object to be hated, but he is someone to be understood, someone who can understand-_

 _She can't bring herself to hate him. (And she hates herself for it.) But she can't. Not with his memories mixed with hers. Not when she knows every part of him—the good, the bad, and the ugly-_

 _Trigon's flames burn her, but to her surprise, she's not the one putting them out. It's Slade who does that. Slade who just looks at her with his only eye-_

 _He hugs her. He's warm, gentle. She leans into his touch-_

 _He understands. She thinks, for a moment, perhaps he's only one who could-_

 _Trigon strangles her in her sleep. She dies every evening, thrashing helplessly under her father's claws. She calls out for help, but only the darkness ever hears her. As she is consumed by her father, the last thing he thinks of is him-_

 _"_ _I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She's standing over Dr. Light's broken, bloody body. His crimson blood slips through her fingers as she tries to keep him alive. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."-_

 _Dr. Light makes it. Thank Azar. But her father's laughter is still ringing in her ears. "I'm proud, daughter. You_ _ **are**_ _like me."-_

 _She's losing her very self to the shadows and she's terrified. She's never felt so alone. If she pretends enough, maybe she can keep them at bay for a little while longer, keep a little bit of hope alive-_

 _She isn't alone. Slade's trying his best to reach her. She knows that, but she doesn't want to burden him anymore. It's not because she's generous or kind or even remotely heroic or self-sacrificing_ — _in reality,_ _she's awful because she wants to, wants to let a deluge of pent up emotions crash against him in a wave. She wants to be selfish and burden him. But she can't. She won't. (Because she finally realized why she can't hate him.) So th_ _e words she wants to say keep getting caught in her throat-_

 _She wakes up. It's pouring rain outside. She reaches out for him through their mental connection, but he's not there. He's_ gone _-_

Their minds are one right now, melded together by bonds of hope and pain and understanding and desperation. He knows her; she knows him. The wall that was between them is gone now, replaced with an open connection. The door that was once sealed has swung open to allow the dark to kiss the light sweetly on the lips.

No more walls. No more illusions or lies. No more hiding.

Just them. Unadulterated. Untouched. Whole.

He reaches out for her mentally, and she responds to his embrace, pulling him closer. Her fingers ghost over his face. Flesh and skin return to his bones. Gently, she removes his mask. He doesn't stop her.

Finally, she sees his face, his real face, for the first time. He finally sees all of her, all of her imperfections, her doubts and worries and hopes all laid out before him.

They meet, light and shadow, shadow and light, as equals, as fellow sinners and saints.

Finally, they are whole.

—

There are no nightmares anywhere.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	7. Candlelight

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Candlelight**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Ya'll are AWESOME! You guys are so kind and fabulous. I'm so grateful that you've taken time to review, follow, and/or favorite. There's nothing a writer loves more than listen to comments and constructive criticism.

One more chapter plus an epilogue plus a bonus scene to go! YAAAY! Nearly done! I might make more bonus scenes. Dunno. It depends if I feel like it can add anything else. Anyway, this chapter sets up The End, pun intended. I always wondered how Slade got the Ring of Azar because he wasn't wearing it before. My headcannon was Raven gave it to him, but that might just be from my shipping goggles.

…why can't I ship cannon ships? Darn it! Why are my OTPs always borderline crack ships? The struggle is so real…

Cough. Anyhow, on a different note, please enjoy!

* * *

"All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle."

-St. Francis of Assisi

* * *

They descend into the cavern in silence.

To the untrained eye, Raven is the very picture of defiance and resolution. Even as they are marching toward the End, she is the oak tree that refuses to bend. (He hopes she isn't the oak that will be broken.)

Visibly, she is the same Raven that had lashed out at him in her mind. Her eyes are not rimmed with red. She will not cry. If history ever recalls the End, they'll remember her as someone who bravely, viciously fought against her Destiny… Or they'll just heap all the blame upon her shoulders. (Who knows if there will anyone around to remember after Trigon returns?)

The only sign of her tacit resignation to her fate is the dejected slump in her shoulders.

He reaches out to touch her shoulder. Their thoughts tangle together. The bond that binds them together has strengthened to the point where there is no need for any words. He sends reassurance for her doubts, faith for her reservations.

(Still, in spite of everything, he doesn't have to send any hope.)

He tilts his head to survey her. "You don't look like someone who will destroy the world."

"You have a point." She gives him a wry grin and walks a little taller. "If I'm going to destroy the world, I might as well act like it."

His lips curve into a smirk. "When you say things like that, I regret the fact I never chose you as my apprentice."

She laughs, and his heart feels lighter. Then she looks at him, violet eyes gazing at him with an emotion he can't quite place. "Thank you."

"For what?"

She smiles. "For everything."

He scoffs. (Because he can't find the words or the courage to say them.) "I suppose, even the emotionless ones get sappy at the end."

Raven shakes her head, smile never fading. "It's not the end."

"Not _yet_." Brother Blood's voice echoes in the cavern. With an army of fire demons by his side, the man sweeps between the two of them, his hand draping itself over Raven's shoulder. "Hello, Raven."

Her face remains impassive, but he can feel the disgust radiating from her. "Unhand me, servant. _Now_."

"Now, now," Brother Blood silkily murmurs in her ear, his fingers dancing from her shoulder and moving steadily downward. "Is that any way to treat your father's favorite—"

Slade jerks him away from her and slams the man against the wall with a satisfying crunch. Two—no three broken ribs. Some internal bleeding. His hands find Brother Blood's neck and he begins to squeeze. Brother Blood begins to sputter, his face turning an odd shade of blue. The fire demons beside him start to move, but Raven's commanding hand freezes them in place.

"Slade. Enough." Raven touches his arm. "Leave him. He's insignificant."

Reluctantly, Slade releases the man from his death-grip. "As you wish."

They turn to leave, not even bothering to watch Brother Blood drop like a stone. He lies there, gasping and panting for air. Blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth. Brother Blood looks at Raven with hatred burning in his eyes. "You will fail. You will fall. Even you, a half-demon bastard, can't fight against Fate."

"Do yourself a favor." Raven turns a lazy eye toward him. "Shut up."

"I'll enjoy watching your entire world burn," Brother Blood continues, his voice borderline hysteric. "I'll be first in line to watch your friends becomes nothing more than ashes. Or better yet, Trigon will reward me for my services and let me kill them myself!"

Raven seizes the man by the collar, eyes blazing with all the hate of hell. "If you threaten my friends again…" Her voice drops forty degrees below and it doesn't look like it will warm up any time soon. "I'll let you _live_ after I'm through with you."

"Ha! As if a goody-goody two shoes like yourself could ever make me afraid."

"Try me." Her hands glow crimson. Red runes begin to creep up Brother Blood's neck and he starts to thrash and shriek as they begin to burn. Her eyes form that bloodthirsty quartet of crimson. She laughs and laughs and laughs as Brother Blood is reduced to a sniveling wreck.

And then she stops. She's breathing heavily, as if she's been to the edge and nearly took a flying leap off it and only just pulled out at the last moment.

Brother Blood hastily scrambles to his feet, her marks still on his skin. "I'll… I'll…"

"What?" She smirks, and she looks just like her father. Her shadow casts Brother Blood in nothing but darkness and despair. "Stammer at me? You're nothing but a little puppet in my father's game. An insignificant pawn. You think being my father's little puppy gives you power? How _cute_."

Slade touches her shoulder. "Raven."

She looks at him, and he sees those familiar amethyst eyes and not that bloodthirsty gaze.

They are tightrope walkers, trying desperately to balance their two sides, but the rope is unsteady, and one wrong step could cause them to end up at the bottom of hell.

They'll fall. (But at least they will fall together and they won't feel so alone.)

She gives him the smallest of nods. "Let's go."

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

The silence doesn't last. (Nothing can when it comes to Trigon.)

The entire journey to the cavern is littered with his constant crooning in her mind. Trigon's eyes smile from the darkness. Raven's steps get slower and slower with every moment, her hands flying to her head to try to calm her throbbing temple.

 _Kill him! Obliterate the fool!_

The mark of Skaath burns onto her skin. His mark, His daughter, His. (She was always _His_ ; she never was his, never could be.)

 _He's nothing more than an insignificant mortal! Either you destroy him or I will!_

She falls to the floor clutching her head. He can only watch as Trigon begins to mentally tear her apart until she can't take it any longer.

 _You will_ _ **obey**_ _me, daughter._ **Now.**

She can no longer ignore his orders, and her hands flare to life.

She _has_ to do this. (Doesn't mean she wants to.)

"I'm sorry, Slade" she whispers, crystal tears in her eyes. "So sorry."

 _Destroy him!_

Slade tries to reach out through their bond, but Raven won't let him in. All of a sudden, she is in front of him, eyes blazing. His flesh is ripped from him and returns to being just re-animated bones. She smashes him to the ground with all the hate of hell behind her. His limbs twist every which way. He doesn't feel any pain as a skeleton, but he can feel hers.

(And that hurts enough.)

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

As she pins him to the floor, he touches her cheek. _It's okay._

It's not. They both know that.

(And with this, Trigon notes with some satisfaction, her corruption is complete.)

—

She leaves him as nothing more than shadow and shattered bones. She leaves him there, along with parts of herself. Broken.

(There's no hope anywhere.)

Raven turns away and doesn't look back.

Slade is left alone in the darkness. As he struggles to put himself back together, he notices a glint of gold that shines through the shadows.

Reaching forward, Slade finds a ring of gold. He vaguely remembers seeing that in her mind—the Ring of Azar, a relic of Azarath that would ward off Trigon's powers. New red runes twist around the ring, runes that written in her own hand. Thanks to her memories, he can read the inscriptions.

 _Be safe._

* * *

The ring is warm in his hands, like a little candle that shines through the darkness.

(There's still hope.)

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	8. Ravens and Wolves

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Ravens and Wolves**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Ya'll are A-W-E-S-O-M-E! I 3 You!

I still have the Epilogue and a bonus scene that's kind of unrelated and really more of an excuse to include Wintergreen. Anyway, in this chapter, it follows Titans cannon in the sense that Raven gets turned into a child, Slade goes to help, yadayadaya with some modified dialogue at the end and the inclusion of Brother Blood (because that guy is seriously creepy in the comics).

Funny story: I always thought that Slade was represented by a wolf because he's an Alpha male, a lone wolf, and an excellent "hunter," but at the same time, he wants to be a leader of a very small "pack" a.k.a. his apprentices. I did some research and guess what? Wolves are often accompanied by ravens and the two have a symbiotic relationship. What. Even _nature_ ships my OTP...if Slade is a wolf anyway. It depends on which version, I suppose... He could be a snake or maybe honey badger or something else... I digress. Still, I thought that was pretty funny and extremely coincidental.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light."

–Norman B. Rice

* * *

It's the End.

He wakes up and she's beside him. But she's not the Raven that he remembers, but the Raven he saw as he waltzed with her in her memories. Raven-the-child. Raven-the-survivor. The Raven that had always been alone.

It's the End, and all he cares about is if she's okay.

He gently touches her wrist, praying that she's all right.

He heaves a sigh of relief when he feels her heartbeat.

It's the End, but the story still continues. He's alive. The Titans are alive. (The End may have happened, but hope still springs eternal.)

Raven-the-child stirs. Her amethyst eyes blink groggily. "Who are you?"

"A friend." He can feel her fear spilling over from the bond. Slade tries to approach her, but she draws back further into her white cloak, terrified. He reaches out through their mental link, trying to send some sort of reassurance, and she shrieks.

"What are you doing?" She vaults to her feet, hands clutching her head. "Get out of my head!"

Slade immediately retracts his mental feeler, but it's too late. With a blast of furious black light, she blasts him into a wall and races off into the darkness of the ravine. Even Deathstroke doesn't feel good about terrifying a little girl. Slade Wilson is downright frantic, and Slade is at a loss of what to do.

Part of him is _hurt_ that she would ever shirk from his touch.

Another part of him is shocked that he feels pain from that. Pain? Skeletons don't feel pain. Removing his glove, he is sees his own flesh and blood. One last gift from his favorite bird.

(His heart hurts all over again.)

* * *

It's the End, but really, it's only the beginning, the beginning of a revolution, the beginning of hope.

He finds the Titans as he wanders through the flames and fury. They are so like her, with determination and hope reflected in their eyes, bright specks of light in a starless sky. They attack him; he doesn't even bother fighting back.

"I'm not here to fight, Titans." He raises his hands defensively. "Believe it or not, I'm here to help."

They exchange stunned glances. It didn't take a genius to realize they didn't believe him.

The Ring of Azar gives him a nudge. _Give me to them_ , it seems to say.

Reluctantly, he gives it away and he feels a little emptier inside. Hell may be burning, but right now, he feels so cold.

—

"Why are you helping us, Slade?" Robin demands. His friends are busy distracting Trigon as the two of them go further into the depths of hell.

It isn't a complicated question, but it feels like it is one. But in the end, the answer is quite simple—because he cares about what happens to that foolish, troublesome, brilliant woman. ( _Girl_ , Slade Wilson reminds pointedly. Deathstroke mentally smacks him on the head and adds _Woman_ for good measure.)

He has chosen to help her friends. He has chosen to save her.

He's helping them because he _wants_ to. Nothing more.

(She is a weakness he cannot have, but at the same time, she is his greatest strength.)

"My reasons are my own," he replies coolly. "Do you want your friend back or not?"

"Hmph." Robin stalks away. "I still don't trust you."

"Good." Slade gestures to a trail disturbed by child-like footprints. "You'll find your friend down that path."

Robin's eyes narrow. "What about you?"

"Oh, don't mind me." Slade's eye finds Brother Blood concealed in the shadows. "I'll simply be saying hello to an old friend."

Slade watches Robin disappear in the distance with Brother Blood carefully following. He knows that look in Brother Blood's eyes, and Deathstroke takes over from there.

(It's quick. Brutal. Efficient.)

He drops Brother Blood's dismembered corpse into the lava without a second thought.

Slade regrets nothing as he cleans off his bloodied knife. He is still a wolf, even if he is more of a man. He is still a predator that is burning with the thrill of the hunt and the primal need to protect.

(And what wolf doesn't enjoy the company of a raven?)

* * *

In the river of lava, he looks down and sees his reflection.

Deathstroke looks up at him. Slade Wilson looks back.

In the End, he is both a mask and a man.

(In the End, he is Slade, no more, no less.)

* * *

He immediately springs back into the fray when he feels the Ring of Azar shatter. Its destruction sends out a call for help that cuts through all of hell to reach him.

He's finally in his element. Slade Wilson and Deathstroke are both going for the kill. Vaulting himself into the air, Slade brings a flaming axe down onto Trigon. Once. Twice.

He lands on his feet, and Trigon's two prized horns lands with him.

They're winning. _Shocking_. He had thought that Trigon the Terrible would put up more of a fight…

Slade screams in pain as he's caught in Trigon's sudden magical blast. He kisses the earth. Hard. Groaning in pain, Slade tries to push himself up, but gravity wins and he isn't strong enough to fight it.

Raven-the-child is trying to wake her friends. Raven-the-woman wouldn't have been so weak.

He reaches out for her again through their bond. He can feel her protesting, but she's too shaken to stop him. Her mind is full of darkness and chaos and fear and utter terror. He finds her, huddled in a corner, her soul just barely shining through the darkness.

 _You can do it._

She nearly jumps a foot in the air from his voice alone. Recovering her bearings, Raven-the-child frantically shakes her head. _I can't._ She curls up into a little ball. _He's too strong._

 _You're stronger._ Kneeling down, Slade holds out a beckoning hand. _You're the light in the darkness. It's time for you to fly, Raven._

 _I can't._

 _You can._ He touches her shoulder. _You are the most hopeful person I know._

Slade finds himself being pushed out of her head, a gentle shove that still sends his head reeling.

When he comes to, he finds Raven on her knees before her father. Her robes of white are tattered and torn and stained red, but her eyes have that familiar fire in them, an inextinguishable flame that will just burn, burn, burn…

(And he knows that his light has returned.)

"You're no match for your master!" Trigon cackles. Magic blazes on his fingertips, and his very shadow engulfs her small figure. "Give up, little girl!"

Raven-the-child stands up, eyes glowing white. " _No_."

—

—

Ravens were perhaps the smartest animals in the world. Put them in a cage and give them a pick, and soon enough, they'll be long gone and flying free.

She just found a way to break the lock.

He watches her as she transforms from a child to a fully-fledged adult adorned in white. She stands tall, and her father's cast shadow suddenly looks small.

She engulfs him with her very soul that tears through the darkness, through hell itself, to consume the Devil until he's nothing more than ashes and dust. She blasts him with a brilliant, unrelenting light that shines brighter than anything he has ever seen.

The cage of darkness that once trapped her soul is gone. That brilliant raven is no longer caged by the darkness.

It flies free.

—

Slade steps back from the light and returns the shadows. His job is done. She doesn't need him anymore.

But then he feels her mind tangling with his, feels her gratitude seeping into every bone of his body. (She might not need him, but that doesn't mean she doesn't _want_ him.)

And he now knows that this isn't quite the End.

—

—

—

(After all, ravens and wolves made good hunting partners.)

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	9. Epilogue

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Epilogue**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Thanks for all your support! I wish I could give you freshly baked cookies! :D Thanks for sticking with me to the end, yes pun intended.

Please enjoy!

* * *

The end of the world was hell. Literally. Lava. Fire demons galore. Ashes everywhere. The whole melodramatic shebang. Satan would have been quite proud. Trigon probably had been when he was around to see it. The end was destructive, unstoppable. The end was supposed to be _The End_.

The problem, of course, is what happens after _The End_. What happens when the story continues on after the pages run out? What happens when Fate is wrong and the world keeps spinning?

The end is boring; it is the future that is truly interesting. The epilogue. The afterword. The anticipation for what hasn't happened—yet. What will be written next? What story will be told?

He doesn't know. Neither does Raven.

(They wouldn't mind finding out together.)

For the second time, she comes to him, a lone figure of white knocking on his balcony's door. Their eyes meet. The emotions bottled in their chests mingle until they don't know whose feelings are whose. Not that it mattered. Their hearts are one and the same.

He steps out into the early morning's light. "Raven."

She closes the distance between them. "Slade."

He lifts up her hand to gently kiss her fingertips. "Do you want to come in?"

"No. I won't intrude." She casually leans herself against the deck's railing. He can feel the amusement radiating from her in waves. There's something else under that, something different, deeper, stronger… He feels it too, a small flickering in his chest. "Unfortunately, I won't be staying long."

"Pity." It doesn't surprise him anymore that he means it. He grins. "And what causes you to grace me with your presence?"

"This." She holds out the ring of gold bound by crimson. "Take it." He hesitantly reaches for it, but he draws back as if burned by hellfire.

The smile fades from his lips. "I can't."

Deathstroke is still there, whispering terrible things in his mind, and the things Slade Wilson has done in the past aren't much better. Slade isn't worthy of taking her blessing or her protection, and sure as hell isn't worthy of being hers.

"You can." She smiles faintly. "It's yours."

"It's not."

"This ring will always be yours, Slade." Her smile widens. "I will always be yours." Raven gently places the ring in his palm. It feels warm in his hand. It has a quiet warmth that pulsed like a heartbeat, a gentle fire that would never burn. His one good eye meets hers. In that gaze, he tries to say the things he couldn't bear to say aloud.

She already knows.

"Good bye, Raven."

"Not good bye," she laughs, looking happier than he had ever seen her. "Until we meet again."

A ray of sunlight breaks out from behind the clouds to illuminate her face. It decks her hair in a shining halo of gold. Her hair falls to her shoulders in a purple cascade. In white, she looks every bit a queen. An angel in the flesh and blood. His salvation and damnation all in one.

And he suddenly realizes, my god—that woman is beautiful.

(This time, Slade Wilson doesn't bother correcting him.)

"White suits you," he whispers. His fingers touched her shoulder, his fingers floating up to just graze her check.

"Why?" She tilts her head to look at him with those hypnotizing amethyst eyes of hers.

He leans forward and murmurs throatily in her ear, "White is the color of hope." Her fingers intertwine with his, and they instinctively press their foreheads together. He can feel the rush of her newfound joy and freedom as he slips further and further into her very soul. She can feel the unbridled affection in his chest as she delves into the deepest, darkest corners of him.

(And they both feel whole. No more secrets. No more lies. The puzzle is now complete.)

Her lips brush his cheek. "Thank you."

And then she was gone, just a shadow running from the morning light.

(Or was she running towards it?)

Smirking, Slade shuts the deck's door behind him and returns to the darkness from which he came.

—

Their story would continue for a very, very long time.

(There was no way this would be The End.)

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Yeah… Stay tuned for my next work…I guess? I dunno. What are you supposed to say, I wonder? Anyway, I'll probably post Fifty Shades of Slade this weekend. First time writing smut. Fun, fun, fun… Also, be sure to check the bonus drabble. :D

Cough. Anyway, questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


	10. Bonus Drabble

**Title: Masks and Men**

 **Chapter Title: Bonus Drabble**

 **Rating:** T for swearing and mild violence and mature themes

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own this… I think that's why there's Teen Titans Go and no season 6.

 **Author Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! You guys ROCK!

Bonus scenes. YAY! It's just an excuse to add some humor I guess. It's Wintergreen's POV when Slade returns from the end.

I really wanted an excuse to play with Wintergreen's character. Everyone always portrays him as this straight-laced butler, but at the same time, this _is_ a man who's been at the military and seen Deathstroke from day one at both his worst and his best. In the comics, depending on the writer, Wintergreen's sassy, and by sassy, I mean _really_ sassy, all caps. This is the one guy in the world who understands Slade and isn't afraid to take him down a peg. In the comics, he's actually punched Slade once or twice because Slade was doing something stupid. Ah, bromance.

I think I've tried to give him a real-tired-with-your-bull-sh*t-Slade vibe. Sassy!Wintergreen is a fun!Wintergreen…at least to write.

Please enjoy!

* * *

"You're back." William Wintergreen doesn't know whether to slap him or embrace him. He decides to hold off on the latter, but slides the former into the maybe category. It never hurts to deflate Slade's overly large head and heartlessly pummel his ego in order to take him back a peg.

And believe him, Slade Wilson's massive ego always asked for it. _Always._

"Yes." Slade fixes him with his lone blue eye. "I'm back."

"For how long?" Wintergreen busies himself preparing the rest of lunch.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "It depends how long Jump City will have me."

"You don't plan on attacking—"

" _Will_." That's interesting, surprising really. It's first time he's called him Will in years. Slade tries to give him a deathglare, but that stopped working on Wintergreen _years_ ago. "I don't plan on doing anything stupid."

"Like trying to find an apprentice?" Wintergreen snidely remarks. He _had_ warned him, after all, about Terra and Robin, but _someone_ had refused to heed his advice. As usual.

Slade rolls his eyes. "I don't need an apprentice."

"Then…"

"I want to reconnect with my children, if they'll let me." Slade takes of his mask. "That's all. I don't know what I'll do after that." He leaves for the basement without another word, and Wintergreen just stares at his retreating back.

Yes, _Slade_ of all people wanted to reconnect with his children after not even contacting Wintergreen for an entire year after the Terra incident. That was believable. _Definitely_.

He rolls his eyes.

Wintergreen's bullshit sense is tingling.

—

He was right.

Wintergreen had been about to deliver Slade's breakfast when he heard a knocking on the window. Pushing the door open a crack, Wintergreen watched as Slade got out of bed to meet…

Dear lord. That's not… It couldn't be… Raven? _That_ Raven from the Teen Titans? And he did it without a mask? No… Maybe Wintergreen was just getting old and seeing things and—My God and Holy Heaven, what is he doing?

Oh, _hell_ no… His best friend did not just reach down and kiss his long-time enemy's hand. This had to be a bad dream. This couldn't be happening. Thiscouldn' _couldn't_ behappening.

As he watches the exchange, his jaw just gets lower and lower…

Dear Lord, it's happening.

He notices the way Slade is smiling at the girl, notices the way that Slade is standing close, too close, the way that he is laughing less like Deathstroke and more like the Slade Wilson that had gone back for him so many years ago.

And he notices the way that Raven doesn't look at all like the dark, brooding girl he had seen before. She's glowing with a self-assured confidence that Slade would certainly find attractive. Her smile is gentle, and it didn't take a genius to realize that she's beautiful.

Raven gives Slade something before Slade presses their foreheads together to whisper something in her ear. She grins and kisses his cheek sweetly before disappearing into thin air. Slade's fingers linger on the spot she kissed him, and he has this stupid, dumbstruck expression on his face.

Wintergreen resists the urge to facepalm…or throw up.

Both options were starting to look very, very appealing.

First Addie… The entire apprentice phrase Slade went through… Now _her_ … Dear lord, when would the chaos ever end?

Knocking pointedly, Wintergreen enters and sets down the breakfast tray with a bang. Giving Slade a long, hard look, Wintergreen shakes his head disappointedly. "And you told me you weren't going to do anything stupid."

Slade just gives him a sheepish smile.

Wintergreen smacks him across the face.

—

The man had it a long time coming.

—

—

Unfortunately, even _that_ wasn't enough to wipe off that stupid smile from his face.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Type something in that cute little box and leave a review!


End file.
